I think I’m losing my memory. I really seem to have a hard time retaining any sort of valuable information these days. I keep asking my girlfriend questions about conversations we’ve had and things that have happened because I just have a great big blank spot there. It’s kind of disconcerting.

The last few days have been good. Not overwhelmingly awesome or anything, but good. Work is busy and home is low-key. Sat around last night watching much TV. Watched the Season finale of The West Wing, which I must say I haven’t watched a regular episode of all season. After Aaron Sorkin left, I just couldn’t being myself to care. But I heard that there was much Josh/Donna UST in this one, so I had to tune in. All and all it was pretty good. Not stunning or jaw-dropping, but pretty good. I might watch the first episode next season, so I guess they’ve succeeded.

I also watched the series finale of Angel. I never really could get into that show, and while I tried to watch again when Spike joined this season it just wasn’t happening for me. The only reason I watched tonight was because it officially brought an end to the Buffyverse on television, which makes me sad. As for the episide itself – a resounding meh. I won’t speak to the ending itself, but it certainly pissed off the folks over at TWoP.

It feels like my whole life has consisted of starting again, starting over, moving on. I can not keep cleaning the dust of the past off my shoulders. It never fully comes clean anyway, and the weight of all my pasts has begun to weigh me down (though not as heavily as my futures do – I think perhaps I carry them on opposite shoulders, the past on the right, the future on the left).

I feel like there are no real answers for me out there, that the only thing I can do is try to make it work until the very moment I am sure that it won’t. Only then will I be able to walk away and begin again, leaving her to her quarter-life crisis and the cosmic joke that is “finding oneself”. And what are you planning on doing once you find yourself, my love? Where will you be if you have left us all behind, the ones who know you best? I suppose you will be someone entirely new – and it makes me sad to think that’s what you want.

Are you so insecure with yourself, so down on yourself, that the only way you can feel good about your life is to “be better than everyone else”? Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with ambition, with wanting to achieve great things. But one also should be comfortable in their own skin, to be able to sit with themselves in the most quiet of moments and be okay with who they are.

Perhaps it’s my background. The poverty, the disability, etc. When you begin at such a low place, just living, being happy and being self-sufficient is success. I don’t need to be better than everyone else, I just need to be happy with my own life. I’ve always used the following question: “Am I going to care about this on my death bed?” I suppose it’s possible that being a career person will make her happy, that she will truly be able to say “yes” when the end of her own life is at hand, but I know that she – our timing – will always be one of my regrets. I know and she knows that eventually she will want to settle down. What really makes me sad is that purely based on timetables, the person she settles down with may not be me. She may need to go do her thing for the next five years and meet someone else on the way.

I’ve always said to her that if we end things, if she goes away, there is no chance for us in the future. There is no coming back. And that’s kind of a lie, but it’s a lie I need to tell myself, not her. Because if I told her that maybe, just maybe, if I’m free we might get back together, well, I’d end up hanging on to her in her absence and not move on. She’d likely meet someone else, and I’d be here, waiting for her to wake up and come to her senses.

Because sometimes even a little bit of hope is a bad thing.